The Land of Milk and Honey
by LittleWingx
Summary: Surviving the end of the world is one thing. Living through it is another, and far more difficult. Something vaguely Klaus-shaped finds something vaguely Bonnie-shaped and they try to figure out together. [ Zombie Apocalypse Klonnie AU. ]
1. Where the Wild Things Are

**Author's Note:** I should absolutely be doing homework for any one of the four classes I have projects due in. But I'm not. Klonnie comes first because my priorities are in order.

After much encouragement from Anastasia-G though, I'm trying my hand at chaptered fic. This remix on klonnie and the zombie apocalypse has been on my mind for a little while and I've finally put pen to paper. God only knows when I'll actually update it again. Don't assume I know what I'm doing, but enjoy!

* * *

No one can really say how it all began anymore. Those who were present at the start are dead—or dying—not interested in talking about it or unfit for human interaction. The majority of the population seems to fit into the third category. Something about it being the zombie apocalypse seems to just erode everybody's social graces.

It has eroded other things too.

When Klaus comes upon what's left of Bonnie Bennett, the loss is more evident. She is alive. She breathes. She moves. She survives, but there are parts missing. Bits and pieces worn away by loss and fear and failure to protect. A soldier whose nation has collapsed while they were away at war. Nowhere to go. Nothing to protect. Enemies on all sides.

He could ask what's become of her friends, but he doesn't. He doesn't because he's been eroded too. Ground down to a sharp, precise point that never misses and always leaves a fatal wound. He doesn't have any need of friends. Competition for his food source, nothing more. The world before required him to pass himself off as human and normal. The world now requires him to be an apex predator.

Two sets of fangs that never retract. Skin that mends itself when broken. Senses that detect fresh blood a literal mile away. Superhuman strength he doesn't have to temper. Venom that flows from his bite. He had to jettison all the human parts and make way for the killing machine.

It is too easy for one zombie to turn into thirty, and thirty to a hundred. They are slow and stupid, but they are many and he is one. They cannot bite through his skin, but they still try. To be swarmed and weighed down by already rotting bodies is. . . unpleasant. And somewhat time consuming.

Rot is all he can ever smell. Everything is **rotting**. People, places, things, thoughts, feelings, beliefs. All of it in a state of decomposition. Bonnie would join them if he left her there, but he never considers it. She is there, she is alive, and he is to keep her that way. Once he might have said that it was insurance. He couldn't let the Bennett line go extinct. The two of them are the last of their kind. And when the world rights itself, he'll be in need of a witch.

The world isn't interested in righting itself. It hasn't been for a long time.


	2. Comfort Food

**Author's Note:** I'm still trying to get the hang of this chapter-ing thing. This is evidently how you recover from life stress, sleep deprivation and test studying. Some people are born Klonnie trash, some people have Klonnie trash thrust upon them.

* * *

An unfortunate consequence of being human at the end of the world is that you still have human needs. Human needs that Klaus hasn't had to think about since he actually spent time around humans. But he has to think about them because Bonnie can't.

They raid empty houses—well, he raids, Bonnie sits quietly—and the pickings are slim. The good stuff has already been looted, if it wasn't taken when the owners vacated. There's lots of rot—there's _always_ lots of rot. Some canned things, boxed food here and there. Things she _could_ eat, but not things she needs.

There is one house on the street with a human in it. Adult. Male. Armed with a shotgun and sidearm. The shotgun is what he greets them with. Useless threats that neither of them hear. Klaus' eyes remain on the man while the rest of his senses extend towards the house. The man is alone. He is also overweight. That means he has food that Bonnie can eat. He probably has enough food that several Bonnies could eat.

That is less his concern than the way the shotgun man eyes the diminutive witch. When he lowers his weapon and invites them both inside, Klaus knows that he will have to kill him. The shotgun man is not to be trusted, and in fact, has probably only lived as long as he has through deceit and betrayal. The greed in his eyes tells him that the shotgun man would gobble Bonnie up too if given the opportunity.

Or he foolishly tries to make himself one.

Even if he is missing the parts that made him human, Klaus is often mistaken for one. The shotgun man thinks he can be distracted by food while Bonnie is offered the use of his bathroom. He also thinks he can corner her in that bathroom and sate the rest of his appetite.

He won't live long enough to realize the severity of his mistake.

There was a time when such actions would have warranted a cruel and bloody death. Something the hybrid could have taken his time with and enjoyed. He can't remember the last time he enjoyed anything.

And frankly, the point of it all was Bonnie's protection. Making such a bloody mess would only attract undead; slow and stumbling though they may be. Trying to take something (some _one_ ) that doesn't belong to him was the shotgun man's death sentence. How he dies is inconsequential as long as he dies.

Snapping his neck is quick, but not as easy as it used to be. Restraint is a relic he has to unearth and examine closely before he can use it again. Like opening a Coke bottle after years of nothing but cans. Cans you crush, and bang up and sometimes they burst, sometimes not. They have their sharp edges but are not particularly strong. There's an easy way to open it, but you can also get creative.

Bottles are less so. If it's never been opened before, twisting the cap off too fast will result in an overflow that can't be controlled. It gets _everywhere_ and then it gets sticky and there's more on you than there is for you to drink.

But if you were to twist the cap slowly, just enough to snap the plastic seal, you've avoided all that. A quick jerk and release, and there's plenty to drink.

The shotgun man slumps and Klaus has to catch him (and all his weight, the glutton) before he hits the floor. A sound that would most certainly attract Bonnie's attention. Something to be avoided. If she retreats further into herself, he may not be able to get her to eat. Forcing his blood on her would work in the short term, but it's also one of those things she _could_ eat, but not what she _needs_.

There's nothing stopping the hybrid from eating though.

When his fangs descend and his jaw locks at the jugular, a chorus of voices emerge from the same place his restraint came from. The same old life. Whimsical and indulgent and red and white. _Have a Coke, and smile!_

* * *

Feeding himself is easy. Feeding Bonnie proves to be a challenge yet.

The shotgun man does have an abundance of food. Things like rice, coffee, sugar, pasta sauce, instant pudding mix and entirely too much mayonnaise. Great in theory, but they aren't staying long enough to cook anything. Even if they did take some of this stuff with them, they might not find a way to actually make it for some time. Bonnie will need to eat before then. Though it escapes him just when **he** last had human food, Klaus remembers exactly that last time she did. Four hours and thirty-seven— _thirty-eight_ minutes ago.

He finds two jars of peanut butter. One labeled crunchy and open. The other creamy, and still sealed. The second one is less likely to be contaminated, and easier to eat (not that he doesn't taste it himself anyway, to make sure the alleged peanut butter is _actually_ peanut butter). So he digs out a spoon to stick in it and sets it front of the witch.

Bonnie raises her head to look at it—this thing he's put in front of her—but she makes no moves towards it.

The hybrid grunts, a coarse sound like a growl cut short, then picks up the jar and sets it down closer to her. _This is for_ _ **you**_ _._

However long it takes, she _does_ withdraw the spoon and feed herself. Slow at first, then a little more, a little faster. As fast as someone **can** eat peanut butter at least. Fortune continues to smile upon them, as Klaus finds not just one, but _four_ jugs of milk in the functioning refrigerator. One of them spoiled. Another on its way. The one at the back though, is partially frozen, and therefore still safe to drink.

It won't be safe forever. None of this will last forever. It won't even last six weeks. Though Klaus knows, as he watches Bonnie across the table from him—eating, and enjoying a cold glass of milk and sweet, earthy peanut butter—that he will need to find something that _will_. This "lifestyle" of his works for him, but not for small, living, breathing witches.

* * *

She kindly stopped for Death, but He could not stop for her.

Death took everyone she tried to protect. Everyone she tried to save. Everyone. Every _single_ one.

Every spell failed. Every binding attempt. Every prayer. Every plea. Every offering. The Spirits heard nothing or ignored it. The same way the undead seemed to ignore her magic at times. She could burn, but she could not bind. She could bury, but they would not stay buried. She could seal and they would stumble through.

What was the point anymore when all she was doing was living to watch others die?

Death was supposed to take her next. They circled and came close. Some closer than others. Sometimes her human fear set her magic off before her mind could stop it. Enough of them burned that they couldn't smell her anymore. Not enough to venture over when other food was easier to get to.

When Death _did_ take her, it wasn't to her ancestors. He came in the form of the Original Hybrid. And he took her from her self-imposed grave to wherever the hell he pleased. Klaus Mikaelson always did whatever the hell he pleased. Why should the end of the world make him any different?

But he was different. He _is_ different. Klaus Mikaelson is loud, brazen, charismatic, shameless and selfish. A certain flair for dramatics in all his movements. At least, the Klaus Mikaelson of old.

This one is still Death. For he takes the lives and unlives of everyone around them. Yet she is spared. More than spared, he's been determined to keep her alive whether she likes it or not.

This one is also quiet. He hasn't spoken since they met. He makes noises instead. He growls. He snarls. He snaps. He grunts. Sometimes he rumbles. What would be murmuring if he were using words, but it's only sounds. When he doesn't do that, he gestures, or simply moves her where he wants her to go. Silent, or chatty, Klaus Mikaelson still wants his way and intends to see that he gets it.

Bonnie can't bring herself to the old feelings. She hasn't been able to bring herself to **any** feelings in a long time. When she does, she doesn't know which feeling it is.

It's not quite happiness because she isn't happy. It isn't a lack of fear, because she has lacked fear longer than she can remember. But it's something like those things. She's had food. The remnants of such are fueling the fire before them. Full and warm and weary from traveling, she is ready to sleep. Ready to sleep without worry of ambush, or nightmares, or even relative discomfort. The fire is the protection in front of her. The hybrid is the protection behind her.

It won't strike her until much later that Klaus doesn't seem to sleep. She doesn't know if he ever did. What she does know, is that he makes himself into a fortress around her while he means for her to sleep. He sat himself behind her and pulled her to lean against him; back to chest. But not upright, as his hand urges her head towards his shoulder. The ground is colder, and harder and completely unforgiving compared to his fire-warmed, thousand year old body.

Content. She is content.

Klaus intends for her to sleep on him. To use him for her comfort and survival—after a millennia long history of doing the very same himself—and Bonnie is content to do so.

* * *

She is more content with him than without him.

Content enough, that when they come upon a farmhouse in a field, she wanders a bit. Klaus watches her as she does so. His eyes are on her, the rest of his senses, though, are inspecting the sizable house behind them. Then the whole of the farm. Then the surrounding area. Then the area past that. And the area past that. . .

Bonnie leaves him to his inspecting. She's found something to inspect herself. There's a tree on this property. Big, tall, strong once, wilted now. Leaves brownish and dry. Branches sagging with exhaustion. They pass a great many trees and bushes and other plants in their travels. Yet this one calls to her. It is dying, but it is **not** dead.

She stands at the roots. Old, deep roots. She wonders if the tree is older than the house. It's certainly older than her. But not her magic. It's flooding her arms seemingly without a thought. She watches her hand raise and press flat to the trunk. Then just as fast as it came, it flushes right out. Into the thick wood, into the ground, into the weak leaves until they are fresh and green. Into the branches until they creak and groan and stretch upon awakening. Small green buds become pink buds then even bigger red buds.

As the tree reaches further and further out, stands straighter and straighter, Bonnie backs up to watch it grow. One or two steps back, she hits something solid and silent, yet warm and familiar.

Klaus, who has finished his inspection, also looks up to watch the tree restore itself. His arms folded, his face placid—if not slightly suspicious—though he does reach out to steady her when the earth shifts for the extending roots. He rumbles at all the noise. A sound not yet a snarl, but it could be if that damn tree tries anything.

It has nothing malicious in mind, however. All the tree does is continue to bloom and blossom and bear fruit. A dark red apple falls off its branch and right into Bonnie's hands. Not a scrape or dent to be found as she turns it over. But it isn't only her examination the apple must pass. If it isn't hybrid approved, it **won't** be eaten.

Amber on black appraise the skin, and apparently finding nothing more than she did, give way to his fangs sinking into the apple flesh. Just enough for him to make sure the apple is really an apple. When he withdraws and returns it to her, there's the perfect imprint of his _four fangs_.

For some reason, this delights her. Both hands hold the apple close while she smiles and smiles and _smiles_ for all the times she had nothing to smile about. " I've never done _**that**_ before."

Klaus _had_ been looking at the farmhouse again, but upon hearing her words, she has his _**full**_ attention. Now those eyes—just as distinctive as his bite—are appraising **her**. Then, he reaches out to take her hand. Another habit. Another thing he doesn't say. _Easy there, love. This way, but stay behind me. If anything happens, I'm getting you out first._

But they are not leaving the farm for more dangerous territory. In fact, he seems to be heading towards the farmhouse itself. " Where are we going?"

" Nowhere _._ "


	3. Sirius, Venus and the Lunar Child

**Author's Note:** I'm not gonna pretend I did more than 45 minutes worth of research into runes and elder futhark, so if it seems wrong, that would be why. I tried. I did spend a little longer with magnets because magnets are pretty neat. Naturally occurring magnets are even more neat. I hope you think this chapter is neat, because it was a little _bastard_ while I was trying to write it. Something something suffering for the sake of art, etc.

* * *

The apple tree is older.

The farmhouse is young. Its interior more modern than she can remember farmhouses being. Open shelves, bright white cabinets, deep farmhouse sink, wood countertops, an enormous kitchen island that seems more like a land mass, high ceilings, polished hardwood floors, a mammoth stone fireplace. And that's just the first floor.

Klaus has left her to explore the house while he roams. Bonnie can hear him walking on the roof. Something he must be doing on purpose, since Klaus normally makes no noise when he walks. Not even barefoot on hardwood floors.

The bed she finds is big and plush with a white comforter. Fluffy white pillows and sheets. The bed is still made. The sheets still cool and crisp. Likewise, there is an abundance of white dishes downstairs. _Pristine_ , at that. Like they've never been used. Everything in this house is brand new—if not a bit dusty—and _unused_.

She wonders about the previous owners. There's no indication that they left in a hurry. Or were under attack from the inside or outside. There's hardly any indication they lived here at all. The house was built, and filled, and never got to be a home.

In the basement there are candles. Well over a hundred slim white candles. There are places for lightbulbs, but not lightbulbs for all the places. Nor electricity to light them. Candles though, they can use candles. Klaus has built fires before, and she has a history of setting things on fire. It works out perfectly.

She intends to show him just that when he comes in the front door. After finding the candles, she's been placing them around the house, where they will serve as lighting. There's a smile on her face when the candles blink to life, then extinguish themselves when she claps her hands. Not that she thinks Klaus will get the reference. An Original probably wouldn't be caught dead (or _deader_ ) in the same room with something as _gauche_ as a clapper.

Snobbery is something Bonnie expects. The somber look on his face is not.

* * *

" What's wrong?"

She uses her words, knowing that he may not use them back. But she also comes closer, placing her hand against his arm, as that has never failed to get his attention before.

And she does indeed have it. He takes her hand in his and brings it to his lips. She feels the softness of them against her knuckles, the graze of his seemingly eternal stubble on his cheek. And maybe nothing's wrong, maybe he was just thinking of the old world and forgotten he was in the new one. Maybe he thought he'd heard something, and only now realizes it's safe. Or maybe he was trying to make a decision and she just helped him make it.

A decision that places her over his shoulder and staring down at the floor of the basement.

Bonnie doesn't understand this. She's already gotten the candles from the basement. As soon as he sets her upright again, she opens her mouth to ask him why he'd done such a thing—only to find air in the space he once occupied.

" _Klaus_!" She calls his name just as he put his hand on the doorknob.

The line of his shoulders is tense. He's gritting his teeth, she knows without seeing his face. He stopped and he didn't mean to stop, but now he's stopped and she's caught him.

" You're just going to leave me here, aren't you?" The betrayal is heavy in her voice because it's heavy in her stomach. The betrayal and the old fear she never mastered. The one that reared itself every time her father left on a trip, or on Mother's Day, or when Caroline and Elena spoke of their family vacations. That there is still something in her that drives off the people she cares about. She has finally become too much trouble for Klaus too. " That's what this place is for, isn't it? A house you can leave me in while you go off and do . . . _whatever_. Raid camps and **eat** people!"

She means the words to hurt him somehow. Hurt him like she hurts. To reduce him to his ugly instincts because that's all she has. There isn't anything else that can put a dent in him. And even if there was, all it would do is send him running sooner.

Her throat is tight around the words though. They're supposed to come out fierce and tough, because she is fierce and tough and he **had** been taking care of her before, but she can take care of herself now. She's always taken care of herself. Maybe that's what it was. She was too weak, too much, too heavy a burden for him to carry when he is used to serving himself.

Green eyes squeeze shut as her every muscle clenches. Every part of her waiting for the inevitable sound of the door closing. She can't bare to watch him walk through it. To see his back as he walks out of her life.

The sound doesn't come. Instead, she is startled by the feeling of his warm hand on her face. Her green eyes open to find pleading blue ones. The pad of his thumb swipes across her cheek, disrupting the trail of tears. His jaw works itself once or twice, but he shakes his head because he is too impatient to wait for the words to come.

Bonnie doesn't want to be pitied, or lied to. She isn't a child anymore. No one has to say they'll be right back just to leave. They can _just **leave**_. It never worked when she begged them to stay before, it won't work now. The shuddering breath she takes is supposed to fortify her. It seems to endanger her structural integrity even more, leading her to turn away—pull herself away. Leave him before he leaves her.

But Klaus won't allow it. As soon as she tries to tear herself away, his other hand catches her about the waist. Pulls her back into him and locks so she can't flee. _Don't be afraid._

Holding her together when she's falling apart again. She wants to lash out with her magic, to pound her fist against him and it somehow be enough. She can do neither of these things. Her hand only twists in his shirt, and the sobs start to escape one by one. " Don't—don't leave me."

His grip tightens—too much. He's forgotten how much strength to use for embraces like this. It isn't uncomfortable though, not in the least. She would rather be crushed against him than crushed by loneliness. So much so that when he does loosen up, she makes a small sound and clutches **him** too tight instead.

His other hand settles at the back of her neck, holding her in place while he noses into her hair. Below her cheek his chest slowly rises and falls. A deep sigh when he doesn't even need to breathe. " Coming back."

The extra strength it must take to unearth his voice. For her sake. She can think nothing else but that he means it. There is the beginnings of hope in her eyes when she raises her head to look at him.

There is answering determination in his. His silver arrowhead necklace is tugged over his head and placed down over hers. A token of his loyalty, Bonnie thinks.

It's more than that though. His hands cradle her face now, and he's leaning to touch their foreheads together, and Bonnie can _see_. A dark-skinned woman with her hands clasped together. Chanting in a low voice that seems to be coming from every direction. Above her head, the full moon shines bright and white. The woman's eyes open, bright and white. Behind her, Bonnie can see Rebekah, and Elijah, watching in wonder. But not dressed in modern clothing.

A memory. Klaus is sharing one of his memories.

It stops and starts again, with the woman—Ayanna, she knows that name like she knows her own, that woman is _Ayanna_ —and her echoing chants. Then it's looping, playing and playing until Bonnie can chant with her. That's what he wants her to do. Cast the same spell.

A spell that calls to the moon.

But it calls to Klaus first. Klaus and the magic that makes Klaus. He's absorbed so much of the moon's power, he's like a smaller moon himself. Always watching and controlling her tides. Always in her orbit. She feels traces of the same power in the arrowhead.

If she calls to the moon now, her moon will come to her.

" Coming back," she repeats.

His eyes search hers, search her face. He feels for the wetness of tears and only upon finding none, nods his head. " Promise."

When Klaus makes it to the door this time, its with her encouragement. Her smile is the last thing he sees before he barricades the door shut.

* * *

It's hard not to count the hours he's gone. In as far as she can count the hours without a clock. Without a window, or a watch. There used to be too much time in her life and now there's not enough.

She calls to him once, when she feels like he's been gone two hours. He is somewhere north of her. Her human senses don't extend that far, and yet it's something she knows. Something ingrained without having to be taught. He is _there_.

Maybe another hour more and he's in front of her once again. The basement door thrown open. The dark wood dresser he must have moved from downstairs on its side. The dinner table adjacent to it. She won't see those until she comes back upstairs from the basement.

There's no taking her eyes off the winded hybrid before her. Breathing hard, catching his breath for how fast he'd moved. Going to do what he did, and _come back_.

* * *

When they emerge from the basement together, he shows her four sizable rocks on the kitchen counter. The things he had to leave her for. With the iron poker from the fireplace, he demonstrates their magnetic property. And _that's_ when she knows. These things he retrieved are _**lodestones**_. Long famed for their powers of attraction. Not just iron, but money, luck and love.

They could use a healthy helping of all three, to be honest. But Bonnie doubts that's what he wanted them for. Money has lost its value since the world ended. Klaus Mikaelson has been making his own luck for quite some time. And the last one. . .

He doesn't leave her wondering. After setting the iron poker down, the hybrid very deliberately sets the stones out in the form of a cross.

No. Not a cross. A _compass_.

North, south, east, west.

Then he turns one of the stones around. The iron poker retains its attraction, the force is still there, but this time he doesn't allow them to touch. He forces them apart, and looks at her expectantly.

She _was_ right. Klaus does **not** want to draw good things towards them. He wants to **repel** the bad.

* * *

Bonnie figures out a way to do exactly as he asks. She always does. _There's my girl._

A barrier spell, but dependent on the old ways, instead of the Spirits. They're going to eliminate the middle man—or middle ancestors, as it were—and deal with the earth themselves.

Klaus buries the stones at four points on the property. North, south, east and west. Before they fall into their new homes, he bites into his fingers to sign his name in Runic script. The old name, the old way. About time it made itself useful again.

Once they're covered, everything else is up to Bonnie. Her magic will bind the stones to the earth. Where they will then draw on its limitless power to erect a barrier that only the living can pass through.

Well, the living plus one.

Technically speaking, he _is_ undead too. Superior in every way, but dead all the same. How inconvenient it would become to be violently repulsed from his own home should he get too close. His blood and his name on the stones will bypass all of that. The barrier will not know him as a thousand year old dead thing.

Simply _Niklaus_.

* * *

It is easier than she thought it would be. There's no push-back. There's no strain. It's the difference between swimming with the current instead of against it. It feels **natural** , the way magic _should be_.

The binding is seamless. First Klaus' blood to the stones. Then the stones to the earth.

And the earth rises up to defend itself.


End file.
